Missing Colours
Listen to the poem ...
The rat that lately ate the rinds
and crusts on tables laid for birds
has not been seen for days.
The squirrel who outwits the rat
and steals the meals of sunflower seeds
within the feeders in the trees
has not been seen for days.
The field mice which within a trice
while rat and squirrel dodge and joust
will plunder all the sweet pea shoots
and scamper through the rat run routes
have not been seen for days.
The rooks and ravens in the trees
that in the breeze in twilight skies
fill up the air with bedtime noise
while others in the garden feast
or live and play in wildly ways
have not been seen for days.
The slugs and snails that slither out
at night from under flower pots
creating holes in hosta leaves
then chomp their way through hollyhocks
that field mice in their haste forgot
as gardeners rest and sleep and dream
have not been seen for days.
The bats under the moon and stars
whose nightly aerobatic flights
above and through the canopies
of bush and tree or over roofs
by aerials and chimney stacks
displaying death-defying skills
in search of tasty insect snacks
have not been seen for days.
Their hues of feather, fur and skin
enrich the world and life within
I miss their blacks and browns and greys
I hope these guys are all ok …![]()
and crusts on tables laid for birds
has not been seen for days.
The squirrel who outwits the rat
and steals the meals of sunflower seeds
within the feeders in the trees
has not been seen for days.
The field mice which within a trice
while rat and squirrel dodge and joust
will plunder all the sweet pea shoots
and scamper through the rat run routes
have not been seen for days.
The rooks and ravens in the trees
that in the breeze in twilight skies
fill up the air with bedtime noise
while others in the garden feast
or live and play in wildly ways
have not been seen for days.
The slugs and snails that slither out
at night from under flower pots
creating holes in hosta leaves
then chomp their way through hollyhocks
that field mice in their haste forgot
as gardeners rest and sleep and dream
have not been seen for days.
The bats under the moon and stars
whose nightly aerobatic flights
above and through the canopies
of bush and tree or over roofs
by aerials and chimney stacks
displaying death-defying skills
in search of tasty insect snacks
have not been seen for days.
Their hues of feather, fur and skin
enrich the world and life within
I miss their blacks and browns and greys
I hope these guys are all ok …
This poem is copyright (©) Jonathan Humble 2024
About the Writer
Jonathan Humble
Jonathan lives in Cumbria. His work has been published online and in print in a number of magazines and anthologies. His first collection of poetry, My Camel's Name Is Brian, was published by TMB Books in 2015. His second poetry book, Fledge came out in 2020 through Maytree Press. His poems for children have been shortlisted and highly commended in the Caterpillar and Yorkmix poetry competitions and he is the editor of The Dirigible Balloon. His poems Masterclass and This Work is Done were chosen as the Milk House Poem of the Year at the end of 2022 and 2023.
